<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Large Heart, Tiny Photographs by The_Dream_Team</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551501">Large Heart, Tiny Photographs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dream_Team/pseuds/The_Dream_Team'>The_Dream_Team</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Gen, Memories, POV Multiple, Photographs, Scrapbooks, Vignette, it’s quite sad I’m sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:06:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dream_Team/pseuds/The_Dream_Team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hagrid reaches out to those that knew James and Lily Potter best, asking for photographs to give their son.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter/Lily Evans Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>James and Lily Fanfics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Minerva McGonagall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was inspired by oscarwildechilde's tiktok read though of the series to write about James and Lily's friends who contributed photographs for the photo album Hagrid gives to Harry at the end of his first year. Hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“If those toilet seats are not securely back in the lavatories within the hour, Mr. and Mr. Weasley, I will have no choice but to put the both of you in detention,” said Minerva McGonagall, looking down at the two freckled third years in front of her. “And with Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against Hufflepuff next week, it would be a shame for the two of you to miss any more practices.”</p><p>The wide-eyed twins glanced at each other in unison and then back at McGonagall, their arms overflowing with the stolen contraband, expressions blank. She subtly rolled her eyes to keep the smirk from her lips. </p><p>“I would hate to lose to Hufflepuff, so if the toilets are returned to their proper state,” she said pointedly, “I am willing to look the other way.”</p><p>“Of course, Professor!” said the Weasley on the right.</p><p>“That’s just where we were headed!” chimed in the Weasley on the left.</p><p>“To the lavatories-”</p><p>“With these toilet seats we found-”</p><p>“Must’ve been Peeves-”</p><p>“Best be going now-”</p><p>“Those toilets aren’t going to fix themselves!”</p><p>As they stumbled over each other hurrying down the corridor, Minerva finally let the smile creep across her face. Those boys may eventually cause her early retirement, but at least they kept her on her toes. <em> And won her Quidditch matches. </em></p><p>With a sigh, Minerva McGonagall checked her posture, smoothed her robes, and turned to head back to her office. A pile of fifth year essays on Vanishing Spells, along with a once steaming cup of tea, waited on her desk, eager for her return.</p><p>She took a moment longer to dwell on the upcoming match, wondering if Hufflepuff’s new Seeker, Mr. Diggory, would be as successful at catching the Snitch as he had been at transfiguring teapots. </p><p><em> But we have a new Seeker, too, </em> she reminded herself, her heart swelling with pride. <em> And he’s a Potter, no less. </em></p><p>Her thoughts were interrupted by the echoing thuds of a heavy gait thumping down the hallway. Without having to look, she knew the gameskeeper was approaching. She reached out to grab the handle of her office door, hoping to make it back inside before-</p><p>“Professor McGonagall!” called the booming voice of the half-giant. She pursed her lips and spun around on her heel, her mind drifting to the poor cup of tea on her desk growing cooler by the minute. </p><p>“Yes Hagrid?” she replied curtly, pushing her glasses up her nose.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Professor,” he continued, “I jus’ had a question fer yeh.”</p><p>She looked up at him looming over her and raised her brows, motioning for him to go on.</p><p>“Righ’,” he muttered, twirling his massive thumbs together. “It’s abou’ Harry. Harry Potter. I had an idea, yeh see. Y’know the poor kid hasn’ a clue who his parents really were an’ I reckon it migh’ be nice… I want teh collect some photos of James and Lily. Put ‘em in a book for the boy.”</p><p>Hagrid could be a forgetful and unreliable man, but McGonagall had to give him credit for his heart. She couldn’t help but remember that night at the Dursley’s doorstep, comforting the large man as he sobbed about leaving baby Harry with those Muggles. He still cared so deeply for the boy, all these years later. </p><p>Of course, so did she, but Minerva kept that to herself.</p><p>“That is a very thoughtful idea, Hagrid,” she said, allowing herself a warm smile which Hagrid returned with a proud grin.</p><p>“Thank yeh, Professor,” he beamed. “I was wonderin’ if yeh had any photographs yeh may want teh share fer the book?”</p><p>Minerva paused. “I… would have to look,” she said, curtly.</p><p>“Ah, alrigh’ then. Well, yeh know where teh find me, Professor. If yeh find any.”</p><p>She watched him lumber away down the hallway, then turned to unlock her office door.</p><p>As she predicted, her tea was ice cold. Minerva waved her wand, casting a simple heating charm and watched gratefully as steam rose from the now hot beverage. The essays sat, waiting patiently for her attention, but she brushed them to the side. Her eyes drifted elsewhere, towards the framed photos she kept on her desk, always in view. </p><p>There was an old, yellowing portrait of her mother and father, looking stoic and pleasant. Another seemingly ancient photograph of herself, much younger, soaring through the air on her trusted broomstick. But front and center, framed lovingly in an ornate, gold boarder, sat a lively picture of the 1977-1978 Gryffindor Quidditch team, hoisting a shining championship trophy above their heads.</p><p>She reached out and tenderly picked up the picture, bringing it closer to get a better look, even though she still remembered that day as clearly as that morning’s breakfast. </p><p>The boys and girls in the photograph beamed up at her, absolutely lost in their happiness and triumph. The trophy passed from hand to hand as the players took turns kissing the metal and waving towards the crowds around them. Confetti fluttered to the ground like rose petals in the wind.</p><p>Right in the middle of the group stood the team’s fearless leader, their adored captain, James Potter. He wore his signature lopsided smirk, staring straight into the camera while his teammates ruffled his hair and clapped him on the back. Even at seventeen, Potter radiated confidence and there wasn’t even a hint of surprise in his eyes. Just from this picture, it was clear he knew the victory had always been theirs.</p><p>Suddenly, something beyond the photographer caught Potter’s eye and his cocky grin turned into a warm, excited smile. A flash of dark red hair bolted across the frame as a young Lily Evans leapt into James’ outstretched arms. He caught her in a tight embrace and twirled her around before planting a purposeful kiss directly on her lips. </p><p>His teammates laughed and shouted at the happy couple, who eventually peeled themselves off each other, their cheeks flushed and eyes flashing. Then the photograph reset itself and Minerva let herself watch the scene play out one more time. How many times had she viewed this celebration through the years?</p><p>She gripped the frame a little tighter before purposefully setting it back down in its rightful spot. A sad ache made its home in her chest as she tore her eyes away from the happy memory. </p><p><em> Those poor, wonderful kids, </em> she thought. <em> And their poor, wonderful son. </em> </p><p>Minerva finally brought her teacup to her lips. </p><p>The tea had gone cold again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! I have a list of people in mind already, but if anyone wants to see a particular character contribute photographs, I'm open to suggestions :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mary Macdonald</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear Ms. Macdonald, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You might not remember me. It’s Rubeus Hagrid, Gameskeeper at Hogwarts. I’m the large bloke who helped manage the grounds and all that. You used to help me with the chickens from time to time. Hope you’re well.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m puttin’ a photo book together of Lily and James for their son, Harry Potter. I remember you bein’ close with Lily. Do you have any pictures you’d be willin’ to send to me? The poor boy barely knows what his parents looked like.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Any photographs would be mighty appreciated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All the best, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hagrid </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mary stood in front of her kitchen window, stunned, Hagrid’s letter grasped in one hand and a whimpering baby cradled to her hip in the other. </p><p>“Shh, shh,” she cooed, hoping her daughter wouldn’t start crying again. Secretly wishing someone would come and soothe her, too, to keep the tears from welling up in her own eyes.</p><p>How long had it been since Mary had seen an owl? Or her maiden name? </p><p>She read through the letter another time, stopping, as she had done the first time, on Lily and James’ names. The lump in her throat suffocated her, sending sharp daggers of sorrow through the tip of her nose and the corners of her eyes. </p><p>A soft hoot from the barn owl sitting on her windowsill brought her back from a path of dark memories.</p><p>“Of course,” she muttered, looking around her kitchen and spotting a plate of scrambled eggs, now cold from that morning. She grabbed the plate and dropped it in front of the bird, who happily ate the old breakfast before stretching its wings and soaring back out through her window. She watched it fly away and breathed in the salty, fresh air for a moment. The seaside breeze always managed to calm Mary down when those sneaking, painful reminders of her past resurfaced.</p><p>
  <em> The poor boy barely knows what his parents looked like. </em>
</p><p>Her eyes flickered back and forth, reading and rereading that line. She pulled her daughter close, remembering the days when it was a baby Harry in her arms, instead. Back during those precious warm nights of laughing and drinking in the sanctuary of the Potter’s home, in between days of unimaginable losses and brutal fighting during the war. Little Harry always settled down in Mary’s arms and she remembered being so proud that she had been his favourite. Other than Sirius, that is, but she couldn’t count Sirius.</p><p>The whimpering had stopped. Mary’s daughter looked up at her with wide eyes and a little pink tongue popping out of her mouth. She had Mary’s up-turned nose that Mary used to hate on herself, but now found absolutely charming. Harry had James’ nose and that unruly hair, even as a newborn. And Lily’s bright green eyes. She had to find her old school things. </p><p>Boxes, brooms, and well used beach chairs overflowed the cramped closet in their front room, but it was the only storage space they had in the little house. Mary pushed aside coats and pulled out loose gloves and grocery receipts in search of her old trunk. The dust drifted through the stuffy air, leaping from one forgotten surface to another. Then she spotted it.</p><p>The old trunk sat at the very bottom of the back corner of the closet. Mary got a grip on the fraying handle and gave it a pull, ignoring the piles of <em> stuff </em> that fell off the luggage in the process. It was big and clunky and instantly brought her back to those September mornings on Platform 9 ¾. She glanced down at her daughter, engaged with a teddy bear on the rug beside her. </p><p>“Will you be taking the Hogwarts Express one day, my love?” she asked out loud. </p><p><em> Will I ever be able to send you off into that world? </em>She finished the thought in her head, not daring to let the anxiety pass through her lips. </p><p>She went to open the trunk, but found it locked. After looking for a key (for longer than she cared to admit) she realized the tool she should be searching for was her wand. One more dive into the messy closet and Mary resurfaced with a thin rectangular box. </p><p>Inside was her wand. So skinny and unassuming, but also sturdy and powerful. She picked it up and held the wood in her hand. It fit against her palm and rested among her fingers like the final missing piece of the puzzle.</p><p><em> “Lumos,” </em> she whispered, her heart fluttering as the tip of her wand illuminated. </p><p>She stared down at the intricate piece of wood in her hand and marveled at how important it had once been. Mary’s wand was her connection to that incredible world she loved so dearly, who couldn’t love her back in return. Couldn’t overlook her <em> normal </em> parents and her disinterest in magical assimilation. That unbelievable world she had put her life on the line to defend. </p><p>But then again, what is a world, but the people who live in it? The people Mary loved, the ones who made up <em> her </em> wizarding world, were gone. Dead. Traitors. </p><p><em> “Alohamora,” </em> she whispered and the trunk clicked open. </p><p>The contents of her trunk breathed as though they were living creatures. Spare pieces of parchment and quills rustled around between tattered textbooks and a big cozy maroon and gold scarf. A little inkpot, its ink well dried, scurried around on two transfigured feet, back and forth across her belongings. The items still carried a distant scent of her old school and she closed her eyes tightly as she inhaled deeply, wondering how it would feel to walk through those corridors one more time.</p><p>Underneath a well read copy of Witch’s Weekly, Mary found the pile of photographs. Dozens of tiny moving scenes played out before her eyes, like windows glimpsing into other worlds. Girls rolling up their sleeves by the lake, a group of Hufflepuffs looking downtrodden after a lost Quidditch match, trying to hide their disappointment from the camera. Her heart stopped when she spotted a flash of blonde hair as Marlene read in a cozy Common Room armchair, peering over her book to smile at the photographer.</p><p>Mary traced her friend’s face and memorized the way the corners of her mouth turned down when she was especially happy. She could almost feel the heat of the fire that blazed in the background of the picture, longing for a simpler time. Mary had grown used to Muggle photos all these years. Wizard photography felt <em> alive. </em>The charm seemed so cruel now, as she stared at the ghost of her friend.</p><p>More ghosts appeared as Mary found other familiar, long lost faces sprinkled about the photographs. Finally, she locked eyes with a smiling 13-year-old Lily Evans, showing off an invitation welcoming her to The Slug Club. She waved, then took a moment to read the letter, unaware of the scrawny boys sneaking up behind her, throwing up two fingers for the camera. The sandy-haired boy pushed his friend with a messy fringe and circular glasses towards Lily and she spun around in outrage before the picture reset itself.</p><p>Lily had been so furious at James and Remus that night. And to make matters worse, Peter thought it’d be funny to steal her invitation and charm the ink to become invisible. In retaliation, Lily glued the boys’ tongues to the roof of their mouths the next morning at breakfast. They left her alone for at least a week after that morning. </p><p>Mary’s eye caught another photograph, this time from years later. It showed a group of students sitting around the Gryffindor Common Room. Mary immediately found herself perched on the arm of the big sofa. She was so young and carefree, with a glint of hope in her eye that she no longer found in her own reflection. She watched herself toss her curls around and shout something towards the boy across the table from her. </p><p>Mary wasn’t an angry person, but she had her moments. The boy she was laughing at in the photo was Sirius. That traitor. The young Sirius stood in front of his friends, effortlessly dancing and singing and putting on a show. He always did have a knack for the theatrics. Must have been how he got away with it all.  </p><p>Sitting on the sofa next to Mary was Lily, swaying and sipping on a bottle of Butterbeer, her cheeks rosy as she shot a glance towards James, who was busy rustling Remus’ hair. As soon as she looked back at her Butterbeer, James turned his attention to her and sighed. They had missed each other by seconds.</p><p>A few more pictures stood out and were quickly added to her little pile. A sweet shot of Lily kissing James’ cheek after a Quidditch win. The two waving from a table across the Library. James presenting Lily with a kitten on her seventeenth birthday with a nervous looking Peter complaining to a haggard Remus behind them. Poor Peter. </p><p>Finally, the photo that Mary was most eager to see again surfaced above the rest. A nice, glowing photo of Lily and James, arms wrapped around one another, standing in the kitchen of their new home. It had been taken about a month after their wedding, before James’ parents passed away and many moons away from the murder of the McKinnons. </p><p>At first, the picture seemed unexciting. Just some glances and giggles shared between a clearly happy couple. But after a moment, faces started popping in and joining Lily and James. Peter shot up from behind James, Mary threw her arms around Lily’s shoulders, Remus dove in from the left, Marlene skipping in from the right, and Sirius slid in front with a devilish smile. And then, in a coordinated effort, everyone bowed out of the frame except for James and Lily, creating a looping effect once the photo reset itself. </p><p>The silly picture had been James’ idea. Mary remembered him arguing that he had plenty of pictures of himself and Lily and this time he wanted something special. </p><p>Mary thought there couldn’t be <em> enough </em> pictures of James and Lily. Never enough little moments that could capture the confidence in his step or the genuine kindness in her smile. Every seemingly insignificant photograph of the couple was special now. And every fleeting moment of their joy belonged to their son.</p><p>She gathered the pictures and turned to her daughter, who had fallen asleep cuddling her stuffed bear. Mary lifted her carefully, trying her best not to wake the child, and cradled her in her arms. </p><p>The owl had returned to the window by the time Mary made her way to the kitchen to write Hagrid a response. She opened the window, letting the bird back inside, and sat at the counter with a piece of parchment and quill from her trunk. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Hagrid, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for your letter, of course I remember you! I’ll never forget the day you let Lily and I hide out in your home when we got stuck in that awful downpour. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s still hard to revisit life from before the war, but harder still to imagine sweet little Harry not having any memories of his parents. James and Lily are often on my mind. I’m glad their son has someone as thoughtful as you looking out for him.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ve included as many photos as I could find of the Potters. I hope Harry knows he was so loved and still is by those that are left.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hope to see you again someday, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mary  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She took one last look at the photographs before saying goodbye, brushing a tear from her cheek to avoid it falling onto her sleeping daughter. All she had on hand was a flimsy envelope, so she folded the parchment over the photos before stuffing it in and sealing it with a lick. </p><p>Mary didn’t have much left from the wizarding world, and there was a pang in her chest as she handed over the parcel filled with some of her  precious few memories from those years. They headed back to the magical world without her.  </p><p>She heard a small gurgle and looked down at her daughter, now waking after her brief nap. Her tiny mouth opened and she blew a spit bubble, which popped, dispatching glittering purple sparks up into the air. The tiny fireworks shimmered above her head, sending her into a fit of giggles and glee.</p><p>Mary hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her wand and gave it a wave, creating a sputter of red sparkles to mix with the purple. Her daughter’s grin widened in awe.</p><p>There was no use keeping the magical world locked away in a trunk, Mary realized. She gave the barn owl a scratch on his head before letting it out the window one last time. </p><p>She knew it wouldn’t be gone forever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Augusta Longbottom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really went into this thinking it would be a lighthearted chapter...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope you don’t mind too horribly, I got your address from Professor McGonagall. This is Rubeus Hagrid, Gameskeeper at Hogwarts. I worked a bit with your son and his wife during my time with the Order of the Phoenix. They’re the best the Auror department has ever had to offer. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I was wonderin’ if you had Frank and Alice’s possessions on hand? I’m puttin’ a photo album together of Lily and James Potter for their son, Harry. He has nothing from his parents and I hoped to give him something to remember their bravery. I remember Alice used to bring that old camera around to some of our Order dinners. If you could find any pictures of the Potters to send my way, it would be mighty appreciated.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All the best, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hagrid </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Augusta clutched the dining table for support, still recovering from the sudden concern over receiving yet another letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She couldn’t imagine what nonsense Neville could have gotten himself into this time. The boy had already managed to break a bone on his first-ever flying lesson… she didn’t know what she would do if he landed himself in more trouble again. </p><p><em> Frank never stepped a toe out of line, </em> she had thought. <em> Raising him had been effortless. </em></p><p>But the letter wasn’t about Neville this time, so Augusta rolled back her shoulders and held her head up high once more. </p><p>She knew of Hagrid, the half-giant oaf Dumbledore hired to care for the grounds. Probably out of pity. Rumours suggested he had a criminal past. She tutted out loud for no one but the old Barn Owl, perched on the back of a dining chair. He responded with a hoot. </p><p>Augusta fumbled around her robes for her elegant pocket watch. Only a quarter past four. Dinner with Griselda wasn’t for another two hours. She sighed, narrowed her eyes at the owl making itself at home at her table (as though this was all <em> his </em> fault), and made her way to the cellar. </p><p>She surveyed the basement with a scowl. The dust had built up in the musty room and she rectified the mess with a curt flick of her wand. Sliding a finger across the nearest shelf, she nodded at her handwork. Polished. She would have to remember to dust more frequently, especially now that Neville was out of the house. The boy hated the cellar. Wouldn’t even go near the staircase, so the room was often neglected. </p><p>A lot had changed since Neville left for school. Yes, the anxiety of him not getting accepted to Hogwarts had subsided since dropping him off at Platform 9 ¾ (although she would admit she had her doubts leading all the way up to that morning), but new worries filled its place. Gnawing fears about his shortcomings. Concern that Neville wouldn’t have enough magic in him to be as successful as his father. The dread that her strong parenting might have just been a fluke with Frank. <em> But he turned out so well. </em></p><p>She shuffled through the dark cellar towards the back corner where Frank and Alice’s boxes sat abandoned. Augusta frowned. Somehow her dusting spell hadn’t made it this far back. She let the dust sit.</p><p>Exhaling sharply, she opened the boxes like any other bothersome task she needed to get over with. She didn’t know how anyone would be able to find anything amongst the junk that filled her son’s and his wife’s old things. Alice had always been a hoarder- something Augusta had warned her son about on more than one occasion- and her collection of trinkets and gadgets crowded the containers. She pushed aside broken Sneakascopes, old Ministry badges, and crumples concert tickets. It really would be smart to throw the rubbish away. But not today. </p><p>Alice’s photographs sat at the bottom of the second box, carefully folded into an old parchment envelope. They smelled of mothballs and fading chemicals, bitter to Augusta’s keen nose. Her nostrils flared. They stank of being forgotten. </p><p>She flipped through the old pictures, stopping at the occasional candid shot of her son, usually dressed in his Auror robes, a grin stretching across his tired face. He always worked so hard. She allowed herself to smile back at him.</p><p>A large section of the photos came from Frank and Alice’s wedding. It had been such a lovely day. Great weather. Respectable band. Her son beamed at his new wife the entire afternoon and well into the night. That was the day Augusta finally let her shoulders relax and her jaw unclench when she thought of the couple. Alice became family that day. </p><p>She started to give up on finding the Potters within the crowds of the collection of pictures (did she even know what they looked like?) when a shock of red hair popped out from a photograph. Of course. Lily Potter with that unmistakable mane of hair. Augusta remembered her face now… but had she always been that young? </p><p>The girl barely looked old enough to have graduated Hogwarts in the photo, with those shining green eyes and blush on her cheeks. She didn’t look at the camera, but instead at the tall, dark boy beside her whose hair seemed far too unruly for such a formal event. At least his dress robes were respectable.</p><p>The boy, James Potter (unmistakenly Fleamont’s son), reached out a hand politely to ask the girl for a dance. Augusta admired his proper form and manners. Lily grinned, happily accepting the hand and preparing for a ballroom dance, but to Augusta’s shock and horror, James had other plans. With more flailing and hip-shaking than she ever hoped to see, the Potter boy broke out in a ghastly Muggle dance routine. Lily appeared to be delighted, throwing her head back in a hearty laugh, but Augusta had to look away. <em> Hagrid can have this one, </em> she thought as she wrinkled her nose in disgust.</p><p>Now that she knew who she was looking for, Augusta was able to spot Lily Potter and her red hair easily amid the old photos. She and James appeared sporadically, mostly surrounded by other members of the Order of the Pheonix. </p><p>Augusta managed to find one picture of the couple together, sitting alone on the back porch at the McKinnon’s old house. They leaned against each other on the old porch swing, swaying slightly in the breeze, Lily’s head resting on James’ shoulder. A blonde girl walked into the frame with two cups of tea and handed them both to James. It appeared that Lily had fallen asleep, so the blonde girl tip-toed away as Potter mouthed a ‘thank you’ after her. He took a sip from his cup, breathed in deeply, then closed his own eyes and let his head rest on top of Lily’s. <em> Harry might like this photo as well. </em></p><p>Near the end of the pile of pictures, Augusta found herself staring back at a younger version of herself. She stood tall in between Frank and Alice, her arms firmly around the two. Alice must have been almost eight months pregnant, the baby bump prominent under a flowy sundress. Augusta barely recognized the excitement she saw in her own eyes. The hope. </p><p>Another shot of Alice appeared, this time with an equally pregnant Lily by her side. The two laughed together with an air of disbelief that they had both found themselves in such a predicament. The red-headed girl somehow looked even younger with her full, glowing face and uncertain grimace. Right before the photograph reset itself, James, with a group of boys on his tail, slid in to pull the two girls into a delicate hug. The rather shabby-looking group embraced them so softly, it looked as though they were scared of breaking the women in two.</p><p>The next photo was a shot of Frank and Alice by themselves, smiling softly at each other. She had a hand on top of her belly. He held her face tenderly between his fingers. Augusta studied them diligently, controlling her breathing and blinking pointedly. She had raised a good boy who had found a good wife. They started a good family together. Augusta would not let them down. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Hagrid, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I have included a few photos of Lily and James for their boy. They should be substantial. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Also included is a photo of my son, Frank, and his wife, Alice. Please see that this photograph makes its way to my grandson, Neville.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I agree that brave people ought to be remembered, even if they are still with us on this earth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Do tell McGonagall to keep my address private from this point onward.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Augusta Longbottom </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading :) </p><p>If there are any characters you'd like to see Hagrid reach out to for photographs in future chapters, let me know in the comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Andromeda Tonks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to @Sappho_Moon for suggesting Andromeda as a recipient of one of Hagrid's letters!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Mrs. Andromeda Tonks,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Professor Dumbledore suggested I reach out to you. I’m puttin’ a book together of Lily and James Potter for their son, Harry. I’m lookin’ for people who may have photos of them from before the war. It may be a touchy subject, but Dumbledore said you might be the one to ask about Sirius Black’s possessions. He was their best friend, after all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wouldn’t ask if there were many other options. Ya see, poor Harry barely knows what his parents looked like. If you had any photos at all, it would be mighty appreciated. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Best, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rubeus Hagrid</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P.S. Tell Tonks hullo for me and let her know Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team hasn’t been the same without her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the letter from, Mum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda Tonks jumped, startled by her daughter’s voice after becoming lost in the unexpected letter. “It’s from Hagrid,” she said, her eyes scanning the message once more and landing on the name of her cousin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sirius Black.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She bit her lower lip. “He says hello to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The groundskeeper wrote you to tell me hello?” asked Nymphadora, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, along with a few other requests.” She placed the letter off to the side on the countertop, face down as if to hide the questions it posed. In an attempt to busy her hands, Andromeda tidied up Ted’s morning paper he left strewn on the dining table along with a dried inkpot and a handful of loose quills. While she was at it, the dishes needed cleaning as well, might as well whip out her wand to perform a few quick spells-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum, you’re stress cleaning again,” Nymphadora pointed out with a knowing look, “what could Hagrid have possibly asked of you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear, it’s nothing for you to worry about,” said Andromeda, but her daughter had already scurried across the dining room and into the kitchen to take a peek at Hagrid’s letter. She was a curious girl, just like her father. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Messy too,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought as she scooped up the emptied glass of pumpkin juice Nymphadora had abandoned on a bookshelf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum, you have to send Hagrid photos.” Her daughter held the letter out in front of Andromeda’s face as if she hadn’t already read the note.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey,” she sighed, taking the letter back from Nymphadora and folding it into her pocket, “you know I didn’t get Sirius’ possessions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you know where they ended up,” argued Tonks, arms crossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda narrowed her eyes slightly at the girl. She may technically be of age and graduated from school, but she was still so </span>
  <em>
    <span>young.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Still so optimistic and brimming with a desire for justice. But Nymphadora had already begun auror training, and soon she would grow. Soon she would see how their world handles its tragedies and spits out confusion and pain in return. Soon she might understand that some pain should be allowed to be swept under the rug. “Please, drop it, Nymphadora.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of her first name, Nymphadora’s sky blue hair flashed an angry red. “No,” she said, uncannily matching her mother’s glare, “this isn’t about you and your feelings about Uncle Sirius. This is about a little boy who’s spent his life without knowing his parents’ faces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda could respond with a number of stinging retorts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could someone, who changes her own face on demand, have such high regard for what people look like? Maybe you should consider that some people wish they could erase their own parent’s faces from their memories.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thoughts were only angry for a moment and quickly swept away as Nymphadora’s brows knit together in a way that made Andromeda question if she might be looking into a mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda held out her hand, her features softening, and Nymphadora slowly reached out to grab hold. In a flash, darkness surrounded them as their bodies were crushed by a tight pressure, squeezing from every angle, dragging them away from their cottage, and transporting the two women to a tree-lined park in the middle of London.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda kept the hold on her daughter’s hand as they left the park and crossed the street towards the residential buildings. When Numbers 10 and 13 drifted apart to reveal number 12 Grimmauld Place, Nymphadora’s eyes widened. They approached the door, which had no handle, and Andromeda brought out her wand to perform a pricking spell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the drop of blood dripped from her outstretched hand, she noticed her daughter’s face screwed up in disgust. “It’s just a bit of blood, darling, you’re sure to see more if you want to be an Auror.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not scared of blood, Mum,” Nymphadora rolled her eyes. “I’m more concerned by what you need it for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda raised her hand and brushed her bleeding finger against the front door. A warm pulse vibrated from the wood before the entryway opened up before them. “They can burn me off the tapestry, but their old blood magic can’t deny a Black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this where you grew up?” asked Nymphadora, taking in the dark, dusty halls of Grimmauld Place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” whispered Andromeda, “no this is Sirius’ childhood home. Technically belongs to him now that the rest of his family has passed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued down the narrow hall that Andromeda had been down so many times throughout her adolescence. Orion and Walburga were her least favorite relatives, but she always looked forward to family events at Grimmauld. Always enjoyed the company of her younger cousins…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blood traitor! Filth! Halfblood scum!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda jumped and Nymphadora tripped over her own feet as the loud familiar screams of her late aunt echoed down the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure to see you again, Aunt Walburga,” Andromeda tutted at the life-size portrait of a screaming woman dressed in black. She heard a scurry of small feet running down the hall and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “That’s Kreacher, their house-elf, he’ll be no harm to us, just ignore him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house-elf ran past them and flew his hands onto the frame of his old master. “What did these filthy traitors do to you, Misses Black?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda pulled Nymphadora forward and led her up the stairs, straight to the large bedroom she had spent many family dinners hiding away in. When they reached Sirius’ bedroom and pushed open the door, Andromeda’s jaw dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked as though a bomb had gone off, littering items and papers around the floor and burning holes in the Gryffindor banners lining the walls. In the corner sat the remains of a large wooden crate, labeled with Sirius’ name, looking as if it must have been thrown against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda stepped tepidly into the room, taking in the strewn about belongings that were victims of Walburga’s rage. She walked to the school banners, bearing the effects of a cruel burning hex, and raised her own wand. With a wave, the Gryffindor flags repaired themselves, their color brightening after years of neglect. Then, with a practiced hand, she cast an object retracing charm and watched with satisfaction as the discarded items sorted themselves back into the now-repaired wooden crate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smirked at her own handiwork, but something pulled uncomfortably in her stomach. Shouldn’t Walburga Black have been thrilled to learn her rebellious oldest son ended up siding with You-Know-Who in the end?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mum,” said Nymphadora, who had already begun unpacking the box of Sirius’ belongings, “there are so many pictures here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda crossed to join her daughter on the floor. Her breath caught at the sight of young faces smiling up at her from the dozens of photographs depicting her little cousin and his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the photos were set around the Hogwarts grounds, snapped in corridors, in the Gryffindor Common Room, and outside by the lake. Andromeda’s heart tugged as Sirius beamed up at her again and again as she flipped through the photographs. His hair was shaggier and his eyes brighter than she had ever seen them growing up in the Black household. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Andromeda knew that Sirius’ carefree grin and confident air of belonging was thanks to the bespeckled boy who stood by his side in almost every photo. A pang of sorrow echoed in her chest at the sight of James Potter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused on a picture of Sirius and James, around thirteen years old, perched up in a tree next to the Black Lake on the ground of Hogwarts. The boys were cackling from the high-up branches, their wands outstretched as they charmed acorns to pelt themselves down on innocent students trying to enjoy a sunny day by the water. In his fit of laughter, Sirius almost slipped from his branch, but at the last moment, James reached out to steady him. He kept his hand grasping Sirius’ shoulder until the photograph reset itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum look!” said Nymphadora with a smile, “it’s me!” She held out a picture of two teenage boys with a purple-haired toddler. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must have been taken just after their Hogwarts graduation, at the celebratory dinner that Monty and Mia had thrown for James and Sirius. Both boys wore sunglasses and leather jackets, though she guessed they both belonged to Sirius as James’ sleeves didn’t quite reach his wrists. They stood in the Potter’s garden, heads high, smiles laughing. After a beat, they both glanced towards the ground where a four-year-old Nymphadora stood, wearing her own oversized leather vest and sunnies. Andromeda saw James’ mouth move, counting down ‘three… two… one…” before the three of them struck a pose, crossing their arms and leaning together as if they were modeling for an album cover. Nymphadora’s purple hair flashed green and spiked up into a little mohawk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda couldn’t even get a breath in before the tears poured out down her face and onto the photograph. Nymphadora moved to her side in seconds and threw her arms around her.  “Mum, it’s okay, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ragged breaths finally came, bursting through her veiled attempts at holding in the years of doubt plaguing her lungs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could he have done it? How could he have done it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s hard,” said Nymphadora, squeezing Andromeda tighter. “I was only eight when everything happened, but I was shocked, too. It seemed unbelievable-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s more than unbelievable. It’s impossible.” Andromeda froze, the words she had let swirl around her head since that Halloween night had finally escaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nymphadora moved away to look at her mother. “Do you think he’s innocent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Andromeda breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They together sat for a moment, looking at the photograph, thinking about the man who had loved them so fiercely, loved his </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> so fiercely.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I think,” said Nymphadora slowly, “what with me training to become an Auror… maybe I’ll be able to find the proof somewhere. Maybe I’ll uncover something to set him free…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda reached out to stroke her daughter’s cheek. “Oh Dora,” she said, love and admiration pouring out to her kind and empathetic daughter, so much like her father. “One of the great tragedies of this world are the secrets that disappear through the cracks, swept away by a system that does well to forget. I’ll never be able to look at our justice system in a favorable light, but it’s important to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>good people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, working for what’s right, on the inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nymphadora launched herself at her mother, tackling her in a tight embrace. Andromeda held her close, a weight lifted between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh look!” Nymphadora cried behind her shoulder. She reached around and came up with a stack of photographs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda’s tears flowed freely looking down at the blissful Potter family. James beamed, his glasses askew and hair more of a mess than usual, at an absolutely beautiful, full-faced Lily. In their arms, they held a small bundle with little fingers and a shock of raven black hair sticking out under the blankets. James kept glancing between his wife and newborn son, sweat glistening on his forehead and eyes wide as saucers. For a split second, he looked directly at the camera and shook his head in disbelief, making Andromeda quite sure about who must have been taking the picture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lily had tears in her eyes as she stroked Harry’s cheeks and looked down at his impossibly small face. Andromeda found herself reaching out to her daughter instinctually, pulling her over to lay a kiss on the side of her head, just as James placed a tender kiss on Lily’s forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next photo was almost identical to the first, but with the added face of Sirius Black in between James and Lily, staring down at baby Harry with tear-stained cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s Harry’s Godfather, did you know?” said Andromeda quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Harry would have loved him.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Hagrid,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you for reaching out, and of course, <strike>Nymphadora</strike> Tonks sends her love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve included every photo of Lily and James together that I could find. I’m happy to say there were quite a few to choose from. My heart goes to Harry and the life he almost had surrounded by people who loved him dearly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A child growing up without knowing his parents is a tragedy, but there will always be those who hold the torch of their memories safe to pass on to their children. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope these memories may bring Harry some comfort. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All my love,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Andromeda Tonks.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!</p><p>I know that this chapter had a bit less jily than the others, but I couldn't resist focusing on James and Sirius. The next chapter will have a much heavier dose of James/Lily :)</p><p>(Also, I'm posting this with practically no editing, so I may go back and tweak some things later hahaha)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Horace Slughorn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear Professor Slughorn, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope you’re doing well. As you may have heard, Harry Potter has started at Hogwarts. I’m writing you because the boy’s grown up without knowing what his parents looked like, so I’m putting together a photo album. As Lily and James’ professor, I thought you might have photographs from their time at school that I could include in the book?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anything you can find would be greatly appreciated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All the best, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Rubeus Hagrid </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Horace slumped into his armchair, letting the cushions absorb the weight of him as he read and re-read the groundskeeper’s letter.</p><p><em> The </em> Harry Potter at Hogwarts. Lily Evans’ son. Oh, how time had made a fool of him.</p><p>The barn owl watched him from its perch on the windowsill overlooking London’s Pimlico borough. A rare sunshine poured through the open window and haloed the bird, whose delivery now left such a bitter taste in Horace’s mouth. He cleared his throat, setting aside the parchment and exchanging it for his teacup. </p><p>He took a sip of the hot beverage and scanned his sitting room. The walls, lined from floor to ceiling with ornately framed photographs of former students and current associates, buzzed with liveliness. He was surrounded, at all times, with the movement and smiles of those he had taught, those he had helped, and those who now, in turn, helped him. All faces he cared about greatly. Of course, Lily Evans appeared frequently throughout.</p><p>With a low grunt- another reminder of his age- Horace stretched his legs and hoisted himself off the armchair, immediately missing its warmth as he shuffled around the room. He squinted up at the group photos of Slug Club dinners and individual official Ministry portraits from those who he had secured positions for after school. Damocles Belby, surrounded by bubbling cauldrons and mountains of books, beamed down at Horace, who returned him with a pleasant wave. Belby graduated during the mid 50s, so Miss Evans and Mr Potter would be showing up soon…</p><p>As Horace rounded the corner to the East wall, a flash of red hair caught his eye. And there she was.</p><p>Lily Evans had been one of his youngest members, earning a spot to his Slug Club dinners by her third year. Such a talent at potions, it would have been ridiculous waiting to send her an invite. Horace always had a good eye for impressive wizards and witches, and Miss Evans was as impressive as they came. </p><p>She had exceeded, despite her Muggle upbringing, at brewing a perfect Forgetfulness potion during her first-ever lesson at Hogwarts. And Horace kept a close eye on her ever since. </p><p>At thirteen, Miss Evans stood nearly a foot shorter than the other members of the 1973 school year, most of which were sixth and seventh years, but her toothy grin shined the brightest. Horace remembered fondly how much more animated their dinners became after the addition of Lily, who never shied away from speaking her mind, even when surrounded by older students from rival houses. Even after all those years, he could still hear her clear little voice correcting Andrew Witherton, who had been the Head Boy at the time, on his claim that spider eyes and fermented spider eyes were interchangeable when brewing blood-thinning draughts. </p><p>Lily appeared in every group photograph from 1973 to 1977 with the same big smile and fiery hair, always positioned to the right of Horace. She also popped up a number of other times on the wall, a few pictures from Christmas parties and one during a study session he had hosted for the fifth year O.W.L. students. She and that talented Snape boy sat together at the front of the group, sharing a cauldron and taking diligent notes. Horace chuckled, remembering the unlikely friendship, and searched his brain to remember when it was they had fallen out…</p><p>As he pondered, a specific snapshot caught his eye. His favorite photograph. A crystal clear shot from the 1978 graduation feast of himself and Miss Evans shaking hands in front of the high table in the great hall. His heart soared as he watched the photo play out, her enthusiastic smile, her Head Girl badge shining on her robes, stars in her eyes as she set off into her future. A future cut painfully short as Horace’s own creaky knees begged him to look away from the memory and make his way back to the comfy armchair across the room.</p><p>But thank goodness he didn’t turn away too soon, for he would have missed Lily letting go of his hand and jumping forward into an unexpected hug. He watched as Horace from the past let out a booming laugh and returned the embrace, his eyes glistening as he bid farewell to his favorite student. </p><p>Surely, Hagrid didn’t expect him to part with photos from his prized collection? </p><p>He shook his head. No, he would not be removing Lily Evans from his wall. She was special. He had found her, all those years ago, and he wasn’t prepared to lose her. Not again. </p><p>An angry hoot erupted from the windowsill and Horace was met with wide, guilting yellow eyes. Hagrid’s owl seemed to have been instructed to not leave empty-handed. With a huff, Horace peered around the room, looking for a solution. </p><p>There had been photographers at most Slug Club events, so he made his way to the towering bookcases on the West wall and started thumbing through his collection. Cursing his own disorganization, he finally settled on summoning every album from the 70s school years and began his search for that unmistakable red hair. </p><p>He ran into quite a bit of luck in 1976, when he stumbled upon a Halloween party he threw at the top of the Astronomy Tower. A simple photograph showed Miss Evans leaning against a large telescope, dressed in blue robes and wearing a pointed hat. Two girls- one he recognized as a McKinnon- stood on either side of her, giggling with goblets in their hands. On the other side of the telescope, two boys posed behind the girls, one with sandy hair and a pale complexion, and the other with wire-rimmed glasses and a mop of messy black hair. The dark haired boy, none other than James Potter, leaned over to whisper something in Lily’s ear and Horace watched with a chuckle as she swatted at his shoulder and rolled her eyes at the boy. James laughed in response and smoothly snagged the chalice Lily was drinking from and took his own sip, something she clearly disapproved of as she chased him out of the frame. Horace slid the photograph out of its plastic lining and set it to the side.</p><p>The 1977 album proved to hide a few more gems as Horace came upon his annual Christmas party. That year had a winter fairy theme, complete with enchanted snowing clouds overhead and magnificent moving ice sculptures that served warm Butterbeers and the best mead to the many guests. </p><p>A photographer had been set up in a corner of the party to take pictures of couples against an elaborate backdrop that looked like an enchanted, snow-covered forest. His photo album was filled with photos of teenaged couples, ranging from down-right uncomfortable to much <em> too </em> intimate. Horace tutted at some of the more imaginative poses, before letting out a happy gasp. </p><p>Towards the end of the collection were three photographs of Lily Evans and James Potter.</p><p>The first, a straightforward portrait. Lily, her hair curled and wearing a lovely emerald green dress, smiled brightly at the camera with James by her side. The boy looked wracked with nerves from the way he fidgeted with the buttons on his dress robes, but his crooked smile attempted to project a confidence that his hands betrayed. </p><p>The second showed Lily moving to put an arm around James. She looked up shyly to meet his gaze, which he returned with a smile stretching ear to ear. The hand he had raked through his untamable curls fell to her shoulders as he pulled her in closer and they shared a laugh to a joke that couldn’t be heard. Their foreheads met, but at the last second, the two seemed to remember the photographer and turned to the lens with sheepish smiles, their cheeks tinted pink.</p><p>The final photograph picked up where the last one ended. Sheepishness turned to determination as James reached out to tuck a loose curl behind Lily’s ear. Her blush grew darker as his palm rested on the side of her face and she beamed up at him with a much different gleam in her eye that couldn’t be found in the framed photos on Slughorn’s wall. </p><p>The young Lily Evans in the photograph whispered something with a quick glance at the photographer. James followed her eyes and smirked at the camera before flashing his eyebrows and turning back to gather Lily in his arms and meet her with a kiss. After a moment of fingers running through hair and arms wrapping around shoulders, the two broke apart in a fit of smiles and laughter, Lily offering a half-hearted apology to the photographer who probably found the display of affection as lovely as anyone with two eyes and a heart would.</p><p>Horace gathered the Christmas photographs, along with the Halloween shot, and made his way back across the room, stopping only at one last framed photo sitting on top of a table. Inside the delicate silver frame, a twelve-year-old Lily smiled up at him with her award-winning Draught of Peace bottled in her outstretched hand. </p><p>Horace had thrown a friendly competition for fifth years and up, but the girl had managed to sneak into the classroom to test her own skills and ended up producing a perfect potion. Lily had unbelievable potential back then. He had always thought she would end up doing something great, and he supposed she had, but in a different way than he had hoped. He left the final photograph in its frame.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Mr Hagrid, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No need to call me professor, my boy, for it’s been many years since I held the position and many more since you were actually my student!  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for reaching out, as it gave me an opportunity to look back with fond memories of my former students. I’m sure young Harry is just as talented at Potioneering as his dear mother once was. A skill like that would surely not be lost so soon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Enclosed are a number of photographs of young Lily and James. I hope they do well in your book. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Good day, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Horace Slughorn </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Molly Weasley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look guys, I can't even pretend like this wasn't always going to be a pretty devastating chapter.</p><p>It's sad, you've been warned &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear Molly, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hope you’re well and that those garden gnomes aren’t giving you too much trouble. Bit of an odd request, but I was wonderin’ if you might be in possession of Gideon and Fabian’s belongings? You may have heard from your boy, Ron, but young Harry Potter has never known what his parents looked like. I’ve been collecting photographs of Lily and James from their school mates and Professors, and thought I’d ask to see if the twins might o’ had pictures of them from their Order days? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m hoping to put a photo album together for the boy as a gift, so anything you might be able to find would be mighty helpful.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Say hello to Arthur for me.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Best, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hagrid </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Molly had always been a crier. Happy, sad, embarrassed, angry, it didn’t matter. She was used to tears, familiar with the way they flooded her vision before pouring onto her cheeks. Sometimes crying acted as a reminder of her own feelings and how they don’t always need to hide so far underneath her skin. She was not, however, used to the cold grip of grief that squeezed her heart violently upon seeing her brothers’ names written out in Hagrid’s narrow scrawl.</p><p>Ten years had passed since their deaths, but whenever Gideon and Fabian appeared unexpectedly, the shock struck as powerfully as it had the first time she learned they were gone. </p><p>“Mum, I’m going to catch frogs at the pond!” shouted Ginny, snapping Molly out of her despondency. </p><p>“Of course dear,” she responded, wiping away tears and hoping her cheeks appeared more rosy than blotchy. “Don’t forget your wellies!”</p><p>Ginny doubled back from her beeline out the door, kicking off her trainers with a cheeky grin and replacing them with the rubber boots. “You could come with if you’d like…”</p><p>“Oh Gin,” sighed Molly, “maybe later. I’ve got some things I need to get done now.”</p><p>Her daughter nodded before slinking out the back door. It still looked strange seeing Ginny running around without Ron by her side. Weasley kids weren’t meant to be alone.</p><p>Molly turned back to Hagrid’s letter and forced herself to read it again.</p><p>
  <em> Harry Potter has never known what his parents looked like. </em>
</p><p>That was completely unacceptable. She thought of the faces of her own mother and father, growing blurrier and painfully out of reach as time continued past their lives, but not as painful if she’d never had their faces to begin with. Who had deprived this child of his already lost parents? The sentence made her want to crumple up the parchment and throw it in the fireplace, but she knew her anger would probably be best directed elsewhere.</p><p>With a few quick swishes of her wand, a pair of knitting needles flew out of the crate in the corner of the sitting room, followed close behind by a ball of thick, emerald green yarn. Another flick of her wrist and the wool began casting on the pins.</p><p>That was a start, at least.</p><p>She peered out the window to see Ginny wading around in the mud, crouching low like the frogs she searched for, bent knobbly knees, wide eyes, and a little pink tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration. It wasn’t long ago that she’d been sniffling on Platform 9 ¾, begging to get a peek at the <em>famous</em> Harry Potter, and chasing after the train that took her brothers away from her. </p><p>Molly knew the cruelty of being left behind by her brothers, even when they didn’t have a choice.</p><p>Hagrid was right, of course she had Gideon and Fabian’s things. She was the only one left. After the funeral that late summer afternoon in 1981, Alastor brought by the trunks of their things, their lives packed tightly into two boxes as though their memories could be contained by taught leather and metal clasps. She’d poured over her younger brothers’ belongings for months as though they held a clue as to where exactly they’d gone or how she could have better protected them. </p><p>“Look after our boys,” Molly’s mother had told her as Gideon and Fabian rushed ahead to find a compartment on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. “They’re too head over heels for mischief, and those big, stupid hearts of theirs are going to lead them straight into trouble.”</p><p>Her mother had been right, but with hearts that big and stupid, was it possible to do anything but sit back and marvel at their glow? Admire their courage? Assume that the heroes always made it home in the end?</p><p>She pushed open the wooden door to her and Arthur’s bedroom, untying her apron and tossing it to the side. For a few short days, Gideon and Fabian’s trunks were stored in the workshop, but the thought of them growing cold and forgotten outside made Molly sick. She pulled the luggage out from under the bed and brushed off a fine layer of dust. At least they were warm.</p><p>She’d practically memorized the contents of the trunks at this point, from Gideon’s collection of drink coasters he’d nicked from his favourite pubs to Fabian’s worn down watch, still ticking onwards as though someone still needed it. She technically knew exactly where the photographs were kept, but that didn’t stop her from taking extra time sifting through ticket stubs from Quidditch matches and faded howlers sent from Mum during their years at school. When she finally reached the pictures, stored in a small box near the bottom of Fabian’s trunk, she’d thought she’d given herself enough time to prepare.</p><p>Apparently not.</p><p>The hot tears came fast and hard, streaming like rain from a thunderstorm. She’d seen the photo of her brothers slinging Fred and George over their shoulders hundreds of times before. She knew she’d see it again today. But she didn’t know it’d be at the top of the pile.</p><p>Her twins had barely been three years old at the time of the photo, all smiles and chubby cheeks as they hung off their uncles’ arms and tugged on their hair. At one point, Gideon reached back to grab Fred’s leg (or was it George’s?) and hoisted the child up into the air, only to catch him again, cradling the boy close to his chest. They’d been inseparable, those four. Her sons had idolized her brothers before they could even speak, but often the strongest bonds didn’t need silly words getting in the way.</p><p>As she flipped through more of the photographs, she noted all the ways Fred and George embodied Gideon and Fabian, how they shared tiny mannerisms like the way their eyes crinkled at the corners and how they habitually tapped their feet when they were bored. Things that seemed so inconsequential that had, against all odds, stuck through the passage of time. It seemed unbearable to keep the snapshots buried under her bed, so she put them off to the side. The twins might like a few memories added to their next care package.</p><p>The further on through the pile, the more photos she found of members of the Order. Faces like Benjy Fenwick and Dorcas Meadowes, talented witches and wizards who had met their ends during the war. Much like with Harry’s parents, their tragedies had been overshadowed by her own all-consuming heartbreak. Would she ever go back to mourn them all properly? Did she have that strength left in her?</p><p>Seeing James and Lily Potter’s faces smiling up at her surly was a test. </p><p>Within the borders of the photograph, the couple stood, giggling together in a hallway of what Molly recognized as the McKinnon’s cottage. James, with his wild dark hair and skewed glasses, kept glancing at his watch, then towards a closed doorway. Lily held onto his arm with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, trying to control her own laughter. </p><p>Suddenly, a light flashed through the gap below the door before it was flung open by a flustered young man she recognized as Remus Lupin, now covered in soap bubbles. The Potters nearly doubled over in stitches, wiping tears from their eyes and slapping Remus’ back, but quickly sobered up as Alastor Moody limped out next, an avalanche of foam covering his head and shoulders. She didn’t get to see Alastor’s reaction to the prank as the photo reset itself, but she chuckled, knowing he couldn’t have been pleased.</p><p>The next photo she found of the couple seemed to have been taken after a mission. Lily had an ice pack pressed against James’ temple, although his split, bloody lip seemed to need quite a bit of attention as well. The girl looked back at the photographer, rolling her eyes, and smirked as she raised a few choice fingers to the camera. Behind her, James gave an enthusiastic thumbs up as Frank Longbottom walked into frame. When Frank got a look at James’ battered face he laughed, shaking his head, and passed Potter a bottle of Firewhiskey. But before James was able to take a sip, Molly’s heart lurched as Sirius Black crossed in front of him, snagging the bottle out of his grip and handing it to Lily instead. She beamed up at Black and he responded by playfully ruffling her hair. </p><p>Molly decided that Harry didn’t need to see this particular photo.</p><p>A few more photographs of bloody noses and exhausted soldiers cropped up, pulling at the loose thread of guilt that still unwound around her and Arthur's decision to stay out of the war. These men and women had sacrificed so much, fought so hard... and she wished she could have known them better. Wished she'd gotten to witness their glory up close instead of from the sidelines. But she had chosen her children, and she would make that choice over and over again without a second thought.</p><p>The last picture she found of the Potters came from what looked like an Order of the Phoenix Christmas party. The two were cuddled up on an armchair in front of a fireplace, butterbeers in hand and eyelids fluttering. James had on a festive headband with felt antlers attached and a red foam nose, which Lily carefully removed in order to lean in and kiss him tenderly. He brought a hand up to caress her face and when they pulled apart they were both blushing. Lily was the first to spot the camera, burying her face in James’ sweater as he rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses, the smile only growing wider as his cheeks flushed darker.</p><p>They must have been fresh out of school, only eighteen years old, and fighting a war when they should have been spending every moment like they had this one, wrapped together in total bliss and youthful joy. In three years, they’d be gone. Dead, with Gideon and Fabian, and all the rest. </p><p>In a horrific split second, Molly thought of how many lives would have been saved if that night at Godric’s Hollow had happened just a few months earlier. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had fallen before her brothers had been taken from her. She instantly hated herself for considering something so cruel as she thought of baby Harry having even one less day with his Mum and Dad. No, grief could be brutal and consuming, but she wouldn’t let it control her. Wouldn’t let it drag her down to its level.</p><p>Molly had her sons and daughter to care for now. Her children who carried pieces of Gideon and Fabian with them everywhere they went, in their toothy grins and fiery spirits and big, stupid hearts. And she’d care for Harry now, too. That sweet, polite boy who carried his own mother’s green eyes and father’s wide smile. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dearest Hagrid, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Always a pleasure to hear from you. The gnomes have calmed down, thankfully, especially with the colder weather approaching.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re such a dear for what you’re doing for Harry. Thank you for reaching out about the photo album. It’s an excellent idea, and I hope these photos are a good addition to your collection. I’m including a couple batches of my strawberry shortcake biscuits. Do help yourself to a batch and send on the rest to whoever comes by for tea this week. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And do look after my twins for me. Remind them that I’ve got my eye on them and not to fall too head over heels into trouble this year.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sending our love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Molly </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>She signed the letter and sealed it with a stamp before hurrying over to put on her own wellies at the back door. </p><p>And when Molly made her way out to the pond, a net for frog catching in one hand and a handful of biscuits in the other, she was met by Ginny’s toothy grin, Gideon’s spattering of freckles, and Fabian’s spark of mischief in her daughter’s eye.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate everyone who's read this little fic. It's very close to my heart and I'm glad you've all been enjoying it and have had such lovely things to say &lt;3</p><p>Feel free to come say hi on tumblr @the-dream-team :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>